


Awaken

by Nemainofthewater



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Extra Treat, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Multi, can be seen as gen or pre relationship, the deaths mentioned are canonical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22696873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Coufeyrac wakes.
Relationships: Courfeyrac/Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Awaken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Apathy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apathy/gifts).



Courfeyrac opened his eyes. He was feeling rather too weak to do more than that; his limbs were leaden and thoroughly defeated by whatever covers had been wrapped around him like a vice. Moreover, he felt weaker than the newborn kittens his younger sister would deposit on his lap at every opportunity whenever he returned home, despite his protestations that cat hair was extremely difficult to get off clothes. He suspected that they did it on purpose, knowing he wouldn’t truly eject the kitten from his lap, no matter his threats.

“Oh! Monsieur, you’re awake.”

Leaning over his was the most marvellous vision of beauty, an angel with deep chestnut hair and bright blue eyes with- and he squinted- a faint smattering of freckles scattered across her cheeks that would horrify his mother. He- had no recollection of her, nor what she was doing in his bedroom. Judging from the state of his head and his memory both he had overindulged the night before and would now have to reap the consequences. It was, however, unlike him to have forgotten his bedpartner’s name or appearance: if there was one thing that he prided himself on, it was that he was a good and respectful lover in all respects.

“Mam’selle,” he croaked, only to have his words cut off by a coughing fit that ignited hitherto unacknowledged and unnoticed wounds in his stomach.

“Oh!” the angel spoke. “Don’t try to talk, Monsieur de Courfeyrac. Marius!” she called over her shoulder. “Bring your friend some water. Do you know when the doctor is to return?”

Marius? Surely he must have misheard? But no- shuffling toward them with all the speed and vigour of a man in his dotage came Marius’ best black suit, Marius himself firmly ensconced within it. The effect was rather ruined, however, by the fact his friend was drawn and pale and appeared to be lacking in the use of his left arm. In his right, though, he held a glass of what Courfeyrac could only presume was water and- mercy upon mercies!- he proffered it shakily. Ignoring the water spilling down his chest and dampening his sheets, Courfeyrac drank greedily. Sweet nectar! It flowed down his throat more easily than the smoothest of wines, and he made an involuntarily noise of protest as the angel reappeared and took the glass from him.

“Not too fast,” she said. “Papa said that you could throw it back up again, if you drank it too fast.”

Her words made sense; indeed Courfeyrac knew they were accurate from long, bitter experience. That didn’t stop him from resenting her, though even that amorphous emotion fled when she smiled at him. He was no poet, not like Jehan or even Grantaire when he was feeling less maudlin, and still he couldn’t help but compare it to the bright sun bursting from a clouded sky in April, the sweet smell of the earth after a hearty storm, the- hold on.

“Marius,” he managed to croak out without dying. “What happened to your arm?”

“Oh!” Marius said, turning, if it were possible, even paler. “I was wounded at the barricade…” he trailed off, giving Courfeyrac a look that was half supplication and half terrible, terrible pity, and Courfeyrac felt a bolt of dread through his heart.

“But, er. Perhaps you don’t remember.”

Courfeyrac shook his head mutely, unable to talk. He did not know what his friend was speaking of- rather he did not want to know. Because there had been no barricade, had there? That was still to come in the distant months-

He shuddered as the bleak memories rose up. The blood and fear and sweat and betrayal: nothing like the exhilaration of 1830. And- Jehan. Poor Jehan who was _dead_.

“Courfeyrac-!”

“Monsieur-!”

He distantly registered the overlapping voices but could not react, gripped as he was by the horrifying though- where were the others? Were he and Marius the only ones-

And then his train of thought was abruptly derailed as two bodies wrapped themselves around him, gentle hands restraining him lest he move too much and disturb the gut wound. The gut wound that he remembered now, the one he was certain was to be fatal.

“What-” he said.

“My friends,” Marius said from where he was apparently nestled against Courfeyrac’s neck. “My dear, dear friend. I am so sorry.”

And the two of them, Marius and his angel, held him and he sobbed and cried and didn’t let go. 

**Author's Note:**

> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
